One More Reason
by Zubeneschamali
Summary: As if Sam didn't already have enough reasons to feel guilty. Filler between "Monster Movie" and "Yellow Fever."


Title: One More Reason  
Author: Zubeneschamali  
Rating: K+  
Spoilers: Up to and including 4.05.  
Summary: As if Sam didn't already have enough reasons to feel guilty. Filler between "Monster Movie" and "Yellow Fever."

A/N: Thanks to DreamBrother for a much-appreciated beta read.

Disclaimer: Like, totally, they are so like, not mine, you know? As if! *flips hair back*

ooooooooooooooooooo

"So you told Jamie everything?" Sam's head was cocked to the side, a curious expression on his face.

"Well, not everything." Dean cast a quick look around the diner to make sure no one was within earshot. "But come on, she had a shape shifter after her, we were talking openly in front of her…I figured she deserved to know the truth. About our jobs and all."

"You told her what we do? That we're not Feds?"

The incredulous tone had Dean looking warily at his brother. To his surprise, he saw the beginnings of a delighted grin on Sam's face. Still, he couldn't help his defensive reaction. "Yeah, so?"

Sam returned his gaze for a second before giving a little half-shake of his head, the corners of his lips curling up as he reached for the chipped coffee mug in front of him. "I guess that makes her your first since…"

When Sam trailed off and took a sip of coffee without finishing his sentence, Dean exasperatedly said, "Yeah, genius, we already established that she's Dean Winchester version two-point-oh's first. What's your point?"

He got an eye roll in response, followed by, "No, I meant since Cassie."

"Oh." His mouth curved in a considering frown before his eyes narrowed. "You keeping track or something?"

"God, no," Sam retorted. "I'd need another journal just for that. And then I wouldn't want to read it."

"Ha ha." Dean drained his coffee and added, "You know, without the scars for the chicks to dig, I gotta have something else up my sleeve."

Sam didn't say anything, just looked back with a faint smile on his face. Then the smile faded and his eyes shifted away, but not before Dean caught a glimpse of sadness in his expression.

Dean stifled a sigh. At least they'd had a few days of fun at Oktoberfest to forget the burden of the impending apocalypse pressing down on both of them. Okay, so there'd been the near-electrocution and the lederhosen, but other than that it had been pretty fun. He'd thought a simple hunt-and-kill would do them both a world of good, and it had. (The hunt-and-bed had certainly helped him, too, but that was a different story.) But now it looked like Sam was already back in his natural habitat of Emo-land.

"So you got another job for us?" Dean asked, reaching for his empty mug and tipping it back into his mouth in case he'd missed a drop somewhere.

"Not yet." Sam idly flipped through the well-worn road atlas he'd brought into the diner. "No omens, no signs of demon activity anywhere. At least nothing for sure."

"Doesn't have to be a demon, Sam." Dean set the mug back on the table and looked around for their waitress.

"I know, but it seems like that should be our priority right now," Sam replied. "If Lilith is intent on breaking these sixty-six seals, we've got to keep our eyes open and stop her as many times as we can."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, but in the meantime, there's plenty of other evil sons-of-bitches we should be hunting down."

"God damn it, I know that!"

The sudden outburst surprised them both. The red-haired waitress who'd been approaching their table hesitated, and Dean gave her a smile that was a calculated mix of apology and encouragement. She filled their coffee cups in silence, and he made a mental note to leave a larger than usual tip.

By the time she backed away from the table, Sam had bowed his head, his long hair obscuring his eyes. "Sorry," he muttered.

Dean pushed the little metal cream pitcher towards him as an offering. "S'okay. I mean, you didn't have as…relaxing an evening as I did last night, so I can understand if you're a little uptight."

"Jerk," came the quick, if warm, response.

The corner of Dean's mouth turned up, and he braced himself for one of those caring-and-sharing moments that Sam loved so much. "So why the tight ass? Besides the obvious, that is."

That got him an exasperated look as Sam reached for the cream and poured a healthy amount into his steaming mug. "I don't know," he answered. "I guess this last case got me thinking."

"Oh, well, that explains it," Dean replied, gesturing at his brother's head. "All those rusty gears up there being forced to turn, it's not surprising something broke off."

This time the exasperation had a hint of amusement in it, and Dean tried not to break out in a grin. Sam was so easy.

But then the younger man's face fell, and he slowly stirred his coffee, the spoon clanking against the ceramic mug. "It's just…All the time that we're spending focusing on demons, all the time I spent last year trying to save you. How many people died during that time because we were doing something else?"

Dean blinked. Trust Sam to feel bad about both sides of an impossible decision like that. He'd seen the worry and guilt clouding his brother's face for the past year while he desperately searched for a way out of the deal, and God only knew how he'd felt when it was clear that it had all been for nothing. And now he was worrying about all the hunts he'd given up in the meantime?

"Sam, we saved a lot of people last year, you know that. And you – " He paused and started again, hoping his voice didn't reflect the slight dip in his confidence level. "You must have saved plenty of people while I was gone."

Sam kept toying with the coffee cup in his hands. "Even while you were…gone…I wasn't exactly doing ordinary hunts." His eyes briefly flickered up to Dean, who barely registered the combination of shame and anger in them before they were focused back on the dingy white mug. "It's just that the regular supernaturals didn't seem so important. I mean, what's one monster when there's a whole horde of them out there, you know? And now if we're talking the honest-to-God apocalypse…" He trailed off and let out a sigh. "But now I can't help but wonder how many werewolves and other creatures have been running free all this time. How many people have been their victims."

"We're not the only hunters in existence, you know," Dean reminded him.

"Yeah, but there's fewer of us all the time." Sam's tone was dark, and Dean recalled something that Bobby had said under his breath about the older Winchester not being the only casualty of the last few months. He hadn't gotten the chance to inquire further, and now the grim set to his brother's mouth wasn't exactly encouraging.

Before he could reply, Sam went on, "Maybe the demons have been distracting me—us—from all these other things out there. Like they're running interference. While all the hunters are busy putting back what we let loose when the Gate was opened, these other things are having a field day."

"Come on, Sam, it's not like there's an Evil League of Evil out there. They aren't all in cahoots with each other." Not that Dean hadn't suspected it from time to time, given that the Winchesters never seemed to catch a break, but that was paranoia talking, nothing more. Shapeshifters and demons and spirits didn't exactly travel in the same circles, much less conspire together.

At least, he was pretty sure they didn't.

Sam's expression had turned slightly sheepish. "Kinda sounds like a conspiracy theory, doesn't it?"

"I don't know." Dean took the biggest gulp of coffee that he could without burning his mouth and went on. "Can't really say that I blame you, given all the crap you've had to deal with lately. And by 'lately,' I mean the past twenty-five years."

"I haven't gotten dumped on any less than you have," Sam quickly responded.

He shrugged one shoulder. "That's not what you were saying back in Missouri," he said as casually as he could. Sam's frustrated outburst about the demon blood in his veins had scared him—not because he was actually frightened _of_ his little brother, but because he was frightened _for_ him. What kind of lengths did Sam think he was going to have to go to in order to make up for something that wasn't even his fault?

Sam pressed his lips together for a moment before saying, "I was just trying to make you understand where I was coming from. It's not…" He sighed and lowered his voice to a near-mutter. "It's not like I died and went to Hell."

Dean let out a huff of breath. "No, I suppose it's not."

Silence fell for a moment. Then Sam shot him a quick look. "Dean, they're not…" He swallowed and looked down at the table. "They're not going to take you back, are they?"

He was struck at how small his brother's voice sounded. He opened his mouth to reassure him, but the words stuck in his throat. Cass wouldn't do that, would he? As long as he did what he was supposed to, he'd be fine.

But if he'd been raised from Perdition to stop Sam from using his anti-demon superpowers—and he'd done that—then why was he still needed topside?

Forcing confidence into his voice, Dean replied, "Of course not, Sam. Even God isn't that cruel."

That got Sam's attention, as he'd known it would. But instead of chewing him out, his brother leaned forward with haunted eyes and said, "Then it's not over, is it?" Before he could answer, Sam went on, his voice dropping further, "I said I wasn't going to use my powers any more. But they must think I am. _He_ must think I am. And He should know, right?" he finished with a bitter half-grin.

Dean's eyebrows scrunched up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sam cast a sideways glance to once again make sure that no one else was in hearing range. Then he said softly, "If you were brought back to stop me from doing what I was doing, and I said I wouldn't do it anymore, then either one—" He held up one finger—"I'm going to keep doing it." A second finger followed the first. "Or two, your time here is finished."

Dean reached across the table and closed his hand around his brother's, forcing both fingers down. "Or three, you're a moron." He pushed Sam's hand away and leaned back, ignoring the hurt look he got in response. "It's not all about you, little brother. Sixty-six seals, Sam." He paused to appreciate the alliteration and went on, "This is bigger than either one of us. And I'm not going anywhere. I promise you that."

"You can't make that promise," came the quick rejoinder.

Castiel's warning flashed across Dean's mind, and he pursed his lips, tamping down the residual fear that maybe once this was all over, or even before it was over, he'd be put back into the pit. "Fine, maybe I can't. But I'm not on parole, Sam. I'm out. I'm here, in the flesh, not goin' anywhere. You got that?"

If Sam knew the words to were to convince Dean as much as Dean's little brother, he didn't let on. Instead he said, "So you got a get-out-of-jail-free card, is that it?"

"Didn't even have to roll doubles," he smirked

That got the corner of Sam's mouth to turn up. "Is it good for more than one use?"

That thought had crossed Dean's mind once or twice, but figured he was already pushing Castiel as far as he could. He wasn't about to go walk in front of a bus to see if he was important enough to be resurrected a second time. "Dude, let's not find out, okay?"

"I hear you," Sam said fervently.

A comfortable silence fell. Finally, Dean drained his coffee cup for the second time and asked, "What do you say we get this show on the road?"

Sam answered, "As long as you don't need a destination. No new case, remember?"

"Oh, I've got a destination." Dean nodded at the atlas and smirked. "Check your map, Sammy. East of Lancaster about ten miles."

With a wary look, Sam paged through the atlas until he came to the page for eastern Pennsylvania. Dean watched his eyes scan the page until he paused, apparently at the city of Lancaster, and then tracked to his right. Then Sam closed his eyes and hung his head, saying, "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"Nope," Dean grinned. "And you're taking my picture in front of the welcome-to-town sign."

"Like a hundred tourists don't do that every day," Sam shot back. "Considering the town is called Intercourse."

"Hey, I am not a tourist. I'm a traveler." Dean waggled his eyebrows. "And believe me, this is my kind of town."

"Uh huh." Sam swallowed the rest of his coffee and started to slide out of the booth. "All right, let's get this over with."

Dean thought it was only kind to lower his voice as he said, "If that's the way you approach Intercourse, Sammy, no wonder you're always going through dry spells."

The glare he got in reply could have blistered paint, but he shrugged it off with a smirk and made his way toward the door, counting on Sam to pick up the tab. Hey, it was tough work keeping a little brother with psychic demon-killing abilities in line, and if he had to resort to the occasional insult to pull it off, so be it.

He had no doubt that if Castiel could drag him out of Hell by one limb, he could dispatch Sam just as quickly, and there was no way Dean was going to let that happen. Knowing his brother's proclivity for being stubborn in the face of authority, maybe making use of Dean's presence was a better strategy on the part of the Powers That Be than simply ordering the younger Winchester to knock it off. Not that Dean seriously thought he'd been raised from the dead because of his snarking abilities, but every tool in the arsenal helped. He'd learned that lesson a long time ago.

Besides, every additional reason Dean could come up with for his living, breathing presence on the earth was a step towards feeling that maybe—just maybe—he deserved to be here.


End file.
